


Death at Snowcloak

by BEDevereux



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Death, Elezen (Final Fantasy XIV), Ishgard (Final Fantasy XIV), Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21965605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BEDevereux/pseuds/BEDevereux
Summary: As roleplayers in the FFXIV community, the use of in-game books is often referred to, most famously through the Zodiac Weapon questline. However, I have found that through roleplay, I often end up discussing books that would be of a more fictional kind, but without any actual reference to such. These stories are meant to breach that gap and create a collection of books that roleplayers may refer to as in-game works of fiction, written from the perspective of an in-game author.As these are works of fiction, some aspects will not be based on lore, but on what an author from Hydaelyn might imagine. It is a story within a story, so to speak. Do not confuse what is written in these stories for lore. And do note that they are supposed to be cheap, steamy romance novels. Feel free to refer to these in-game, or not at all.





	Death at Snowcloak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far from walls of Ishgard on the very edge of the ice wall, Snowcloak, two elezen find themselves entangled in a game of lust and power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B.E. Deverux's personal site, where chapters will be released earlier: https://phel48.wixsite.com/bedevereux/home/chapter-i-the-pale-lanner

## Chapter I:

# The Pale Lanner

There was a quiet serenity in the slashing screeches of the wind. It was so loud that it drowned out any other sound. He could fall and scream for help, and no one would ever hear him, he would be buried forever in the snow. He could disappear and never return.

As the wind whistled, he could almost hear it singing. Like a siren, it beckoned him to take another step closer to the edge; to intentionally slip and fall off the ice wall, knowing that the snow would not be enough to soften a fall from such a height and that with the blizzard now raging, the falconers wouldn’t spot his corpse. He would be gone, swallowed by the colossus that was Snowcloak.

On a clearer day, he would’ve been able to see the silhouette of the city outlined in the horizon, but now, it was hidden by the thick fog, and he couldn’t tell where the snow ended, and the sky began. The aroma was defined but indistinct; It smelled like winter. The frost had crawled like white tendrils up the sides of the wooden walls of the cabin. It was a miracle that the hunting lodge still stood after so many years of cold. Excellent craftsmanship, his father would say. And now, it was a sanctuary of peace away from the turmoil of Ishgard. He went there when he needed a break. But each time he went, the harder it was to return. And each time he returned, the harder it was to stay.

He took a step off the snowy rock, stepping onto the flat ice, the skin of his naked feet retracting as the cold tore through his flesh like minuscule needles. He closed his eyes as he listened to the wind’s song, enjoying the feeling of numbness.

The edges of the wolf skin flung around his knees as the wind picked up, enwrapping him in a cocoon of frost. He breathed in the cold, letting it fill his lungs and, eventually, his heart.

“Don’t stand so close to the edge!”

The words were almost drowned out by the swirling blizzard. Calixte took a last deep breath before he opened his eyes, turning to the man whose voice they belonged. A single eyebrow rose above as a wicked smirk crept over his lips while he lifted one foot, dangling it over the edge of the ice wall. “Are you scared?”

The bright-skinned elezen only crossed his arms in response. The biceps flexed under the thin layer of cloth protecting him from the cold. Even as the knight tried to deny it with silence, Calixte saw it in the corner of his eye. Fear.

“Which scares you more? My father’s wrath,” he asked, the wind carrying his voice to ring in Eros’ ears like an echo. “Or losing me?”

Again, the knight flexed his biceps as he remained silent. It was only after playing Calixte’s game for the hundredth time that Eros had realized, the only way of winning was by not playing at all. He shook his head as he closed the door to the cabin again.

Calixte turned his attention back to the white fog in front of him. Unbeknownst to him, a sigh escaped his bluing lips. He turned his chin to look down at his foot dangling over the abyss below; one foot in the grave, one slip from oblivion. Alas, he put his foot back on the ice.

The heat inside of the cabin came like an assault to his skin, making his grey-tinted cheeks flush. The flames in the fireplace flared. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness inside. It took him another second to realize Eros had not returned to the collection of blankets and animal skins on the floor, and for a moment, he thought the knight might’ve snuck out to leave. He felt indifferent when he found him leaning against the bookcase, an open book in his hand still only dressed in his green shirt and a blanket he had bound around his hips. Though he thought he was modest this way, the sweater hugged his form too tightly, revealing the knight’s musculature.

“You’re crazy; you know that?” Eros said with a smirk. Only after the last syllable had left his lips, did his sparkling eyes look up to meet Calixte’s gaze. He knew exactly what he was doing. It seemed fantastical that a man could hold so much desire in one single stare. But there it was, shining right at him; the pure essence of sex, framed by a pair of dark lashes.

There was a bit of a shrug in his shoulders as Calixte pushed himself off the door. He’d been called worse. As far as strategies went, it was a tame one. As he stepped into the nest of blankets, he let go of the wolf skin, letting it fall to the ground. Leaving his body bare, he grabbed his glass to empty the wine from it. The glow from the fire slithered over every edge of his body, from his prominent collarbone to his smooth legs. His face laid in the shadows, but his eyes shone with poison, like absinth, ready to be drunk.

All Eros needed was that look. With massive steps, he strode towards the duskwight as he threw the book over his shoulder. The knot keeping the blanket around his hips untied from the motion revealing how the colossus between his legs swung from side to side with each step. It visibly reacted as the knight grabbed onto Calixte’s arm, his fingers closing around his elbows easily. A battle of gazes sparked between them. Even as Eros towered above the duskwight, it was impossible to discern who was the predator and who was the prey.

Callixte’s fingers moved through the thick locks of Eros’ hair, and in a single pull, he dragged the knight’s head down to his level. Low enough that he could kiss him if he wanted. Except, when he parted the knight’s lips with his own, it was only so he could grab his lower lip between his teeth. He dragged it out before he snapped at it.

The groan Eros made wasn’t of pleasure, he took a step back, his hand moving to the blood on his lip. He scoffed, as he grabbed onto the duskwight’s elbow harder. “Loving you is like loving a coeurl.”

Calixte smiled at that. When the knight pulled him into a tight grip, he didn’t resist it. Their lips met again, softly this time. Eros wasn’t afraid of taking what he wanted, the way he wanted it. And in truth, Calixte never met anyone he could bite, and they still wanted more. That was, probably, the reason he kept coming back.

The smallest of gasps escaped him as the knight pulled his head back by the hair, revealing the sensitive skin of his neck. His hand rose quickly in defense, but it was intercepted mid-air. Still, Eros only grazed his teeth across the thin skin.

“Stop teasing,” Calixte hissed at him, but Eros had no intention of following orders. Instead, he used his grip on the duskwight’s wrist to turn him around and, with his elbow in his back, pushed him up against the wooden wall. It was only from the precision of his knight’s training that he ensured Calixte’s skull didn’t meet a tragic fate against the mantle of the fireplace.

“Beg for it,” Eros commanded him. The scenario wasn’t a new one. He knew the duskwight would never submit, so he didn’t relinquish his grip.

“Bite me,” Calixte sneered but was only rewarded with more pressure against his back. Pinned between the knight and the wall, he aimed his counter-assault. Arching his back, he moved his hips up. His butt cheeks grasped at the heavy rod hanging from the knight’s crotch.

“That’s cheating,” Eros whispered through his teeth in his ear. For a short moment, he tried to resist, but eventually, he had to cave and ground his cock up against the crack between Calixte’s cheeks. But he knew how to retaliate. Letting go of his wrist, the knight’s firm hand moved around his hip to grasp at his member.

Calixte hissed out a moan as his erection grew in Eros’ hand. He could tell it turned the knight on even more as the grinding intensified. Calixte’s hand moved then up behind him, his fingers sliding through the dark brown locks of Eros’ hair and pulled him down towards his neck. This time it wasn’t an insult but a command: “Bite me.”

As he worked the slim elezen’s cock, Eros grazed his teeth over his neck until he found the perfect spot between the shoulder and neck, and without any concern for leaving marks, he dug his teeth into the greyish flesh.

Calixte’s fingers dug into the scalp of his lover. A hiss escaped him as the nerves in his neck cried out in pain. Instinctively, he pressed his hips tighter against the knight, and though he tried to suppress it, he was powerless to stop himself from letting out a sharp moan.

As if the sound disarmed him, Eros softened his grip of the duskwight’s hair. In an almost caring motion, his hand moved to cup Calixte’s face instead as he suckled gently on the sore spot of his neck. But that was all Calixte needed to get free.

With a well-placed elbow, he knocked out the air from the knight, making him bend over, grabbing his abs. With as much tenderness as a raging manticore, Calixte ran his fingers through those dark brown locks again, grabbing his hair tightly only to push him with all the weight his body could muster. As Eros landed on his back, the blankets surrounding him flared into the air in a whirlwind of fabric, and Calixte was soon on him. He grabbed the knight’s jaw tightly in his hand. Their eyes locked on each other again, dark hazels fighting venomous greens.

The knight remained still as a statue as Calixte positioned himself above him. Slowly, without a word between them, he lowered himself on to him, keeping the steely gaze inch for inch.

A mixture between a hiss and a groan escaped Eros, but he too kept his eyes locked on Calixte’s. The knight knew that if he made a move, he would be losing the fight. And the moment he lost, it would all be over.

At last, the duskwight settled down on Eros’ cock. Both remained still, neither blinking as they looked each other in the eyes, neither making a sound to reveal themselves. But then, as if an inaudible string was played, an invisible signal between them and they both gave in.

Calixte’s hair swung in the air as he arched his back. Without regard for the sheer size of the elezen inside him, he started to move. He moaned deeply as his body swallowed the very last inch inside him.

The sound that rung from the knight’s throat was beastly. His large hands grabbed on to the pointed hips, dragging the elezen down on his erection at the same time as he thrust carelessly up into him.

Calixte moaned. There was nothing submissive in it, and he was not going to deny himself. He felt pleasure, and he wasn’t afraid to express it. As he began to rotate his hips, he matched the velocity of Eros’ thrusts. But he didn’t move for him; he moved for his own satisfaction.

“Calixte,” Eros groaned, his fingers tightening around his hips. He was quickly losing himself, thrusting faster into the duskwight as he grunted deeply.

Writhing his upper body in delight, Calixte emitted a high-pitched whine before he turned back towards the knight, bending his back to accommodate for the new pace of thrusting. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed against the wooden walls in a hectic rhythm, each clap louder than the last.

Eros bit his underlip hard, writhing under the duskwight. Letting go of his lover’s moving hips with one hand, he moved to cup Calixte’s grey-tinted cheek as he sought his glance. But Eros barely had a chance to touch his face before Calixte grasped his wrist in his hand, pinning it above Eros’ head against the wall. He met his gaze, but it wasn’t the with the tenderness the Ishgardian had wanted; his eyes were wild with carnal desire.

It was unfathomable how the duskwight could have him so completely trapped by only his hips and hand. The only thing he could do was thrust upwards, charging himself into the duskwight’s soft insides. And so he did, as roughly and fast as his well-trained muscles could muster.

Calixte moaned out loudly in response. Digging his knees into the wolfskin under them, he adjusted his position to be able to take the man’s brutal thrusts better. His grip tightened around Eros’ wrist, and with the other, he clutched his jaw in a tight squeeze, turning his head to force him to look at him. As he did, their voices became little more than animalistic grunting and hissing.

It became too much for them; they saw it in each other’s eyes. In a single move did Eros thrust up once, just as Calixte slammed himself down, taking the entirety of his cock into him just as it began convulsing in orgasm, his own muscles cramping around it. Keeping their eyes locked together, their voices reaffirming their pleasure as the duskwight’s white seed sprung from him to glaze the knight’s shirt, just as he was filling him with his own.

Like statues, they stayed in place as the pleasure washed over them in waves. And then, as well-rehearsed at this dance was, did they relax suddenly, the knight’s hips falling as his legs unclenched. Calixte let go of his wrist and slowly stood up from the knight, releasing the knight’s slippery member to fall heavily onto his stomach. A smile slithered across Calixte’s dark lips as he looked down on his victim, the knight reduced to a sweaty mess as his chest moved to regain his breath.

Moving to the leather chair, he sunk into the cushions as he grabbed the stubbed cigar from the ashtray next to it. He moved it to his mouth as he lit the end up with a match once again. For a few moments, it was quiet between them, the wind in the chimney howling against the flames in the hearth.

“Those things are going to kill you,” Eros said, awoken from his stupor by the scent of the tobacco.

Calixte took the cigar out of his mouth, holding it in between his fingers as he inspected it. But then he put it back, taking an extraordinarily long puff before he answered: “I’m not going to live long enough for that.”

“Don’t say things like that,” the knight said as he rose again, his gigantean hand grabbing the cigar from his lover’s mouth and putting it out in the ashtray. “I want you to live as long as mortally possible.”

The ice in Calixte’s eyes flared with danger. Like icicles were to form and stab right into the knight’s skull. Without ceasing his glare, he took the cigar, lit it with another match, and puffed before he blew out the smoke into Eros’ face.

The knight didn’t move an inch. He didn’t blink. Only once the smoke was gone did he, once again, take the cigar. But rather than putting it out in the ashtray, he moved to the door, no regard for modesty this time. The wind shrieked as he opened it and threw the cigar out into the blizzard. He only had time to turn before the duskwight’s two hands pushed him out the door.

Eros hadn’t even heard him run, but it was clear from the strength behind the push that the little shit had taken a runup. He landed softly in the cold snow, looking up at the duskwight standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, and his eyebrows raised in defiance.

There was a twitch in the knight’s cock, but it wasn’t from the cold. He smiled as he gathered snow in his palm, and before his lover could close the door on him, he sent the snowball right for his head. It clashed with his face.

“You’re a dead man,” Calixte stated coldly, but the vibration in the corner of his mouth revealed him. Before the knight could get another free shot, he ducked out of the doorway, hiding behind the railing of the terrace. He scooped the snow from the fence into his hands, forming it quickly in his hand before he peered out from his hiding spot. But by then, it was already too late, and even as the snowball clashed against the knight’s cheekbones as he advanced, he soon was upon him, the full weight of his muscled body pinning the duskwight to the cold ground under him.

There was a purr in Eros’ throat as he ran his lips over Calixte’s neck, pinning his arms above his head in the very same fashion that the duskwight had done to him before. “Submit.”

“I never run,” Calixte whispered into his ear before he bit the earlobe in a tease. “And I never surrender.”

Slipping his hand out of the grip came with practice ease before he grabbed a handful of snow and smashed it against the knight’s face, forcing him to concede enough for the duskwight to escape him. Back on his feet, he ran with a grin to where he knew the knight wouldn’t follow, the skin of his feet retracting from the cold again as he made it out onto the ice wall.

“Calixte,” Eros said, any teasing away from his voice. As anticipated, he stopped in his steps. “Step away from the edge.”

But the duskwight couldn’t stop himself. With a vindictive smirk, he dangled his foot across the edge again. “Make me.”

But the knight didn’t move. He remained in his spot, every muscle in his body tensing as the blizzard swirled around them.

But then he was out of sight, and all he could see was the swirling storm of snow storming around him. And for a small moment, he felt complete freedom; no Ishgard, no seminars, no secret affairs with married knights, no parents or responsibilities. Only himself, naked flying through the air as if he was a snowflake himself.

But then it was over as he felt his skull crack open against the icy rock, and his final breath left his lungs.

The snowflakes stopped mid-air. It felt as if it should have had a sound, but there was none. The world stopped as did his heart. But then, on the horizon of the mists, he saw motion in-between the non-motion. Two large wings were carrying their owner across the air. A beautiful white lanner, large enough to take a roegadyn, flew through the frozen snowflakes.

It was only when it landed that the mist cleared and revealed the wings didn’t belong to a lanner at all. Platinum and azure gemstones bejeweled his fingers, his white coat parted at the belt, interwoven with metallic strings that made it unclear if he wore clothing or armor. His eyes were as cold as the frost around them, so brightly white that they seemed to glow faintly. And nestled on his honey blonde hair was a crown of pure white gold. There was no denying it. Calixte was in the presence of a king.

“Your time has come.” His voice was like the shrieking wind, yet Calixte felt at ease as he heard it. There was a familiarity with it. He knew this man. He had always known him. He had flirted with him so many times, and finally, here he was.

“Kiss me,” the elezen said, though he couldn’t feel his vocal cords move.

The cold façade of the figure seemed to disappear as he looked at Calixte. There was a curious sense to the way his one eyebrow lifted. He didn’t answer at first, as if he was reading a page on the front of the duskwight, but it only made him raise his other eyebrow as well. “I’m here to administer the Kiss of Death, and yet you are not afraid.”

“There are things far worse than death.”

Silence descended upon them. Calixte realized that for the first time, he was witnessing complete silence. No wind, no laughter, no breath. Everything was in stasis.

“Show me,” the figure demanded, and there was a finality in his tone. A finality that was like no other he had ever heard before. “Show me these things that are worse than Death.”

Calixte frowned. If he could breathe, it would have stopped in his throat. “But I’m dead.”

“You are not dead until I administer your kiss,” the King answered. “I will lend you more time, and you will show me.”

There was no snap or bang. Just as quietly as they had stopped, did the snowflakes begin to fall again. He felt their cold on his skin. His hand moved instinctively to where he had felt his skull crack to find it closed and healed. He looked again to the figure, half-expecting him to be gone, but he remained there, as corporeal as the wall of ice behind him.

“All right,” he said as he fumbled his way back on his feet. He nodded once. “I will show you everything.”


End file.
